


Broken

by Akiko_Natsuko



Series: Reaper76 [27]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Cyborg!Jack, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-30 01:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16276082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: Working in the shadows and living as a ghost leaves Jack with few options when he needs repairs, and reduced to scouring for the most basic of materials it is hard to shake off the dark thoughts creeping in.





	Broken

    Jack sighed as he paused, leaning as much of his weight as he dared against the shaky bannister as he studied the stairs that led up to the tiny room that was his current base. At this point he wasn’t even sure that he had it to get up the first step, let alone the rest of them, feeling his legs quivering beneath him despite the support. He recognised the feeling; the burning sensation were metal met flesh and knew that he had pushed himself too hard. Again. With that realisation came a crushing feeling of defeat, because all he had done today was scout out the small town and searched through the local markets for the supplies he needed.

   He’d done barely anything and yet here he was, reduced to a trembling mess who could barely hold himself up, and his shoulders slumped as he glanced down at himself. Bile rose as he did so, because even dressed he could easily envision the damage hidden beneath his clothes. The scarred flesh. The limbs that ended prematurely. The ugly, patchwork prosthetics that were the only reason he could still function independently, whilst also the reason why his body, which should still be powering forward with the SEP enhancements that still coursed through his blood was crumbling beneath him.

_Broken._

_Useless._

    The thoughts were familiar by now, companions that haunted his mind day and night no matter what he did to try and silence them However, they were louder than usual now because his last mission had left him out of action, a lucky bullet taking out the main circuit in his left arm and leaving the limb hanging uselessly at his side. _Broken. Useless._ It had been easier to push those thoughts away when he had been pushing himself through rehabilitation, because back then he’d still been able to cling to the hope that things would be better when he was back in the field, because then he would be free of the hospital which had only reminded him of what he had endured and the limitations that they kept trying to force on him, seemingly unable to realise that he needed to do more. However, that hope was long gone. He had long since realised that the most he could hope for was the ability to keep functioning, not necessarily to the level that he needed with the path he had set himself, but functioning.

    It was that thought which got him moving, because right now he wasn’t functioning, and that knowledge was like a leaden weight in the pit of his stomach. If someone found him right now he would be helpless. _Useless._ That knowledge didn’t make it any easier as he slowly began to climb the stairs, teeth gritted as fresh pain lanced up both legs, each step an exercise in pain.

     By the time he reached the door to the room he had claimed as his own in the disused building, he was staggering, breathing hard as he had to lean against it for a moment, needing to gather himself before he tried to open it. When he finally moved again it was a miracle that he didn’t end up in a crumpled heap on the floor because his body was screaming at him now, beginning to just give up where it was, demanding rest and he hastily slipped inside, slamming the door shut behind him before slumping against it and slowly sliding down to the floor. He let the bag he had been carrying fall, not caring that it landed with a loud clatter that might draw unwelcome attention. He knew that he needed to move, but right now he couldn’t even muster the energy to straighten let alone push himself up again, and instead he let his head fall back against the door with a groan.

He was done.

      He knew that he wasn’t really, not yet, if only because giving up now wasn’t a choice. However, for a few minutes at least it was tempting to let himself think that he was, to pretend that everything was over, even if it meant losing. He let his eyes close, focusing on breathing in and out, the pain in his body throbbing in time with each breath.

_Giving up Jack?_

    The low growl in the back of his mind brought with it a different kind of pain, one that settled deep in his heart, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and shatter the illusion, instead giving in to the temptation to pretend that Gabriel was there. Only the Gabriel in his mind was the one from his SEP days, the one who had greeted his presence wit a welcoming grin and later kisses, the one who had spoken to him with friendly words, and offered him loving touches… not the Blackwatch Commander who had had screamed at him from across the meeting room, face contorted with anger and disappointment, whose fist was responsible for one of the pale scars above his eyes…and not Reaper, the ghost who haunted him in every fight these days.

    No, right now all he was allowing himself to see was his Gabriel and he swallowed thickly, imagining surprisingly gentle hands ghosting over his tender limbs, carefully easing the prosthetics off and massaging the sore skin beneath. There was a stinging sensation in his eyes as he recalled whispered words, promises that things were going to be okay, that he was going to be okay, words that told him that he was wanted. That he was loved.

“NO!” The denial burst out of him, a broken cry that shattered the illusion as his eyes flew open and he found himself being confronted once more by the reality of the situation. There was a dampness against the inside of his mask that told him that he hadn’t held the tears at bay, and he blinked them away even as he let his gaze rove around the empty room, taking in the pitiful excuse for a bed in the far corner and the makeshift workbench he’d erected on the other wall. It was a far cry from his quarters in Zurich, hell, even the most basic barracks he’d stayed in as a recruit had been luxurious in comparison to his and he huffed out a bitter laugh, it was a fitting place for someone like him.

    He remained where he was for a couple more minutes, but he didn’t dare linger too long, worried that the daydreams…the memories… would creep back in and eventually he began the laborious task of trying to push himself back to his feet. He regretted giving into the temptation to rest as everything had locked up whilst he was on the ground, and he could taste blood on his lips by the time he finally staggered back to his feet. Retrieving his bag, he limped across to the workbench, knowing that he would be unable to rest until he had at least taken care of his arm, unable to sleep when he was so vulnerable, Not that sleep ever came easily these days, but just the thought of being caught in this state had him shuddering, a fear so deeply ingrained these days that it was never far from his thoughts, a constant sickness at the back of his mind.

_Weak._

_Broken._

_Useless._

     He dumped the bag onto the bench before reaching for his mask, removing the bottom but leaving the visor in place. His eyesight was getting worse by the day and there was no way he was going to risk working on the delicate wiring in his arm without the aid of the visor, especially when his technical skills were still shaky at best.

    Fumbling, struggling to work one-handed he opened the bag and rummaged through its contents. He ignored the food he had picked up, stomach churning from the pain and the onslaught of memories, and instead he pulled out of the bundle of wires and scraps of metal that he had managed to acquire, although his expression darkened as he studied the pitiful collection. It wasn’t enough, and it was little better than scrap metal. If Angela or Torbjörn could see him now they would be horrified, and Jack could remember Angela lecturing others who had lost limbs about what materials could and couldn’t be used if they ever needed to do emergency repairs in the field. It was a message that his own doctor had reinforced, telling him point blank that any repairs were to be done by a professional when he had asked for advice. That was never going to happen though, but even Jack knew that the supplies he had were awful, but he hadn’t had a lot choice, he needed to be able to fight and it wasn’t as though high-quality cybernetic material was just lying around.

    Instead he’d had to comb through what had essentially been a flea market, the best this area which had been hit hard by Los Muertos activities could provide. However, it wasn’t as though it was anything new, he had been dealing using poor quality goods ever since he had signed himself out of the hospital and disappeared, his mission was more important than risking himself for better quality supplies. If he was being honest with himself, it was even the fact that he had been reduced to flea markets where one upon a time he would have had access to the best materials and care a man could ask for that bothered him.

   No, it was the way they looked at him when he had to barter for even the most basic of materials, the way their eyes would rove over him, taking in the bulky parts beneath his clothes that betrayed his true nature. He could always see the moment that they realised, because something would shift in their expressions, his value as a person disappearing instantly and he could see them weighing what was more valuable to them… selling to him or trying to take him apart and sell his parts. Reducing him to a thing. He felt sick just thinking about it, his skin crawling, burning where metal met flesh.

_Broken._

_Useless._

_Less than human._

He glanced towards the tiny bathroom that lay off to the side of the room, able to see the filthy cloth he had flung over the mirror the day he’d moved in. He didn’t need to see his reflection to know how he looked, or to realise that he was something less than human now, the feeling stronger than usual after being subject to those stares and calculating gazes. There was nothing he could do about it now though and that helplessness weighed him down, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he turned his attention back to the workbench and his materials, hand trembling as he reached for them. He didn’t want to repair himself. He didn’t want to be reduced to this, to something more machine than human, but it was too late. As with everything in his life, it was too late, and his shoulders shook for a moment before he sank heavily onto the stood in front of the bench, forcing himself to pull back his sleeve and view the damage. There was no other choice. He couldn’t fall here, not yet.


End file.
